


Emergence

by intricate_glass_box



Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Crying, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misgendering, Pre-Relationship, Reunions, as canonically consistent as I can stand to make it, between WMLW and Markiplier TV, discussion of the events of WKM, not a happy ending persay but they're getting there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24221467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intricate_glass_box/pseuds/intricate_glass_box
Summary: When Wilford goes to find Damien after reuniting with Abe, he finds Darkiplier, who can’t bring themself to tell him what he’d forgotten or never known, until one day being called “Damien” is the last straw and the story comes out disorganized and painful. Wilford can’t handle the reality that Damien and Celine are dead, at first, but while he’s lost a lot he does have Dark.//emergence (noun) - a phenomenon where a system has properties its parts do not have on their own. in cognitive science, consciousness/intelligence/“being” is often considered an emergent property
Relationships: Darkiplier/Wilford Warfstache, darkstache
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Emergence

**Author's Note:**

> This fic, which was outlined way back in January (of 2020) is like one part of “holy shit Darkstache is good but the goddamn work they’d have to go through??” and, tragically, I don’t think I’m a good enough writer to have properly gone into all of the baggage they’re each bringing into this, or the way their personal issues are liable to clash, but I had to try. (The other part is “… Mark what the fuck do you mean Markiplier TV follows WMLW what the fuck there’s so much that needs to happen in between MARK”)

Wilford thinks Darkiplier is Damien. 

Granted, Darkiplier has reasoned, this is an understandable mistake. They’ve never corrected him.

A few months ago, Wilford showed up on Dark’s doorstep. After almost 50 years of not seeing each other, it was still somehow sudden. He’d said, “Damien!” He’d said, “I’ve missed you so much.” Somehow, Wilford — and his name was Wilford now, which Dark had known from vague tabs kept, things they’d heard through the grapevine — _didn’t know anything._

Dark had come to terms with their own existence. They were not Damien. They were not Celine. They were not the manor entity. But, they were a combination of all three. They could remember being Damien, and remember being Celine; and, for lack of a better term, they had powers imbued by the manor entity. But, they were Darkiplier, and they considered themselves and were more than the sum total of all those things. And, slowly, they had figured out how to navigate that, and made peace with it. 

Dark would’ve said they’d come to terms with their relationship to Wilford, as well. They’d, of course, thought of him — it was hard not to, when the body Dark lived in was wracked with chronic pain due to the way the DA died, by Wilford’s hand. While the whole thing was Actor’s fault, ultimately, Dark wasn’t so narrow-minded as to deny the fact that, if William acted differently, it would’ve ended differently. So there were times Dark was furious with him along with the rest… but not usually. Additionally, they remembered being in love with him as Celine and loving him as a friend as Damien and, without Wilford around, they’d never really had to sort out where that left _Dark’s_ feelings for Wilford. 

So seeing Wilford again was… a lot. But it was _good,_ surprisingly so.

That first night, Wilford had told Dark tales of what he’d been up to in the intervening years. Drinking, dancing, and dating — meeting Abe again, and why that inspired him to come looking for… “Damien.” Through the cracks in the story, though he never discussed it explicitly, Dark heard how little his reality made sense, and how he’d come to terms with that in his own way. Dark, of course, could relate. 

Dark of all people could respect that Wilford had been through a lot, and wasn’t necessarily the same person anymore, but it was nice to finally have a _friend_ again. They couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a real conversation with someone that they were close to. Goddamnit, maybe they’d been lonely, so sue them. And maybe that was why they didn’t stop Wilford, and explain that _no,_ Dark was not Damien. 

In all of it, he’d had no idea. No idea that Damien and Celine had died. No idea what Damien and Celine had been through — what _Dark_ had been through. Dark had not spent the last 50 years drinking or dancing or dating. They’d spent it hunting. They’d spent it mostly alone. They’d spent it reclaiming what was theirs, or trying to. 

Wilford avoided the topic of that party and the surrounding events entirely. From what Dark had heard, he was rather unstable, and his coping mechanisms of choice seemed to be rooted in escapism. The days went on. Wilford more or less ended up moving into Darkiplier Manor, evidently not having another permanent home. Even if Dark had wanted to, how could they find the words to tell their only friend that they weren’t who he thought they were? At this point, Dark had, in some sense, been lying to him for weeks. Not only that, but the explanation would make him dredge up the memories of the party, and put him through a hell of a lot of pain, and require Dark to tell him that his best friend _and_ the love of his life had both died… something Wilford might not even be able to comprehend. 

It was too much. Dark held their cards, instead. Every time Wilford called them “Damien,” they swallowed down the unpleasant feelings it caused, and responded. On the (thankfully only two) occasions that Wilford asked about Celine, they steeled themself and gave some excuse before deflecting the conversation as soon as possible… rather than breaking something or outright screaming, as was their first instinct. 

So, Dark had been tolerating it. Tolerating it just fine, actually. The two spent a lot of time together when Wilford was around and Dark wasn’t busy — which did require some subtle schedule shifting, as Dark had been working most days and Wilford still went out most nights, but both of them enjoyed time together and so these shifts happened naturally until they’d typically have several hours each afternoon to catch up and talk, or eat dinner together, and occasionally watch TV or play a card game or something of that sort. It was a marked improvement to the way Dark had been living, and Dark found they did greatly enjoy Wilford’s company just as they had in their past lives, although of course he was indeed changed by what he’d experienced and the natural progression of the intervening years. 

After a couple of months, Dark did consider them to be present-tense friends. Which made it even harder to ignore the elephant in the room, which was that somehow more than two months had passed and Wilford was still thinking Dark is Damien. Every now and again, something would come up in conversation and Dark would have to think carefully how to respond to avoid drawing on information they shouldn’t have — namely, past experience with Wilford as Celine — but luckily Wilford was a cooperative conversation partner in that he would accept a hell of a lot in good faith and allow the conversation to proceed. After all, he didn’t have the best memory to be fact-checking against. But other than that, and the feelings of despair implicit in someone close to you being fundamentally wrong about who you are, things had been relatively smooth. 

Until one day, when Dark had already been seething — they were known to be somewhat prone to fits of rage, and more dead-ends in the search for the Actor that never seemed to be very productive fed into an already-existing bad mood. Wilford had already been getting on their nerves for no other reason than they were mad and he was not. Oblivious Wilford, who always seemed so _happy,_ so content with where, when, and who he’d ended up, had been chattering away and it had to be for the hundredth time but he called Dark “ _Damien_ ” and they finally broke. 

“I’m _not_ Damien,” Dark rasped, with much less thought behind the action than they would’ve liked to have put. 

Wilford stopped, looking at them strangely, both concern and confusion in his eyes — whether at what Dark said, or the clear strain with which they said it. “..What?” he asked, after a moment. 

Dark made an annoyed noise, because goddamnit, why wasn’t it obvious? Sure, Dark _looked_ like Damien, save the _grey_ and the _ringing_ and the _red and blue_ of their aura, all of which Wilford had always seemed to overlook completely despite their effects on not only Dark but their surroundings, and even on days like today when it should’ve hurt his ears. Dark’s distortions tended to give away their emotional state even when they kept their physical composure, and right now they were _mad_ and under that, afraid, because this conversation that they hadn’t wanted to have was going to have to happen right now. It was going to be painful and maybe even dangerous. They might lose Wilford completely. But here they were, so they repeated: “I’m… not… Damien.” 

Wilford gave a sort of confused laugh, less like it was funny and more like he wasn’t sure what to make of it. “What do you mean you’re ‘not Damien?’ Who else would you be?” 

“Damien is dead, Wilford,” Dark told him. This wasn’t any of the versions of this conversation they’d imagined and every part of them felt horrible. 

“No, that… can’t be true. How would Damien have died? And you’re right here,” Wilford tried. 

“ _I’M NOT DAMIEN!_ ” Dark shouted. Wilford wasn’t stupid, despite what some people might think, so why didn’t he know? Why hadn’t he ever asked? Sometimes, they blamed him for forgetting, and sometimes they envied him for it. 

Wilford looked unmoored, a faraway look in his eye. This wasn’t going well. “How would Damien have died?” Wilford repeated.

With a bitter laugh, Dark elaborated: “Celine went too far, got too close. The entity in the manor killed them both. But of course, death doesn’t _work_ in that manor.” 

“Celine…” Wilford said softly, fondly. “She must’ve been heartbroken. I wish I could’ve been there for her, if—”

Did he even listen to the end of Dark’s sentence? They cut him off. “Wilford,” Dark started, pained. “I _need_ you to listen to me. _Please_.” Fear was outpacing anger, now. 

Wilford nodded. “I was,” he said. “I will.” 

“ _No,_ Wil— you… Wil, I need you to _understand_ ,” Dark pleaded, and that’s what it came down to, wasn’t it? But you can’t _ask_ someone to _understand_ you. They weren’t sure Wilford was capable of it. 

But Wilford nodded again. He looked confused, but he wasn’t brushing that off — he was looking at Dark like he _wanted_ to understand. That was going to have to be enough. 

“Damien and Celine _died_ in that manor, Wil,” Dark repeated, and their voice was almost shaking. “The entity killed them, and took Celine’s body. Mark took Damien’s body. That left—“ they wanted to say “my” but they couldn’t yet —“their souls trapped… until the District Attorney died, too.” 

It was hard to explain, because it was hard to talk about themself. Themselves. Because while Dark wasn’t Damien, they were Damien and/but they were also Celine, just also not Celine. A contradiction Dark had accepted and now needed to make Wilford understand. 

Mentioning the District Attorney’s death was a risky thing, though. So Dark quickly kept talking.

“We wanted revenge on Mark. Or at least, Celine did; I was already hell-bent on it, and Damien was on board although I didn’t _really_ understand what had happened. We convinced the DA to agree to sharing their body, so that we could all leave. I — Celine thought it would be a way for us all to _leave_ , but as it turns out with what we had at our disposal in Celine’s abilities and the lingering effects of the entity or the manor itself, a human, or human body, still couldn’t support three disparate souls living in it.” 

Dark sighed, because none of it made sense, because it was exhausting and painful to talk about, and because they didn’t remember their formation as clearly as they would like. “We — they —“ It was getting frustrating again; every way to put it was wrong. “An attempt was made to put all three souls into the DA’s body. But it didn’t work.” They were skipping so much, but none of that mattered right now. “The souls fused, Damien’s and Celine’s. My souls fused. Corrupted, even. And now I exist, and I am both of them and neither of them, and Wilford, I need you to respect that.” Dark was alarmed by the emotion in their voice. They had tears forming in their eyes, which was understandable but terrifying to them. They shuddered, feeling alarmingly out of control in the silence that followed as Wilford was quiet, processing. 

Then he spoke. “Who… are you, then?”

“My name is Darkiplier. I go by Dark.” How far they’d had to go for a simple introduction. 

Wilford was quiet another terrifying moment. Dark’s heart dropped as the look in his eyes grew more distant. “That… can’t be true; the DA didn’t die,” he said, quietly. 

Anger flared back up. Dark was laying themself bare and Wilford needed to be handled with kid gloves because he couldn’t accept the past. It was a bad idea, but they said anyway: “Yes, they did, Wilford. You shot them and I pushed their soul out of their body.” 

Absolutely the wrong thing to say. Wilford shook his head, not even looking at Dark, now. “No, no,” he muttered. “I wouldn’t kill anybody.” 

He stood up, backing up towards the front door. “I— I’m sorry; I must have the wrong address… I’ll just go; I’ve got to go…” 

Dark’s heart twisted. “Wilford, please, goddamnit, I _know_ you know this. I know you know what happened. I’m _sorry_ that it hurts you but that doesn’t make it not true.”

“I’m sorry,” Wilford nearly whispered, and that, at least, was true to both of them. He left, slipping out into the night.

Dark was heartbroken, but they couldn’t make him stay any more than they could make him understand. They yelled, kicking over a coffee table, needing to vent some of the terrible way they were feeling. But all that got them was a shattered lamp and miscellaneous objects rolling away on the floor. In the moment of quiet, tears came to their eyes again. They’d tried to ignore it and hadn’t been able to. Tried to explain and Wilford hadn’t been able to accept them. And now they were alone again. 

They cried. First, a hitch to their breath catching them off guard, then tears spilling down their cheeks. They sunk down onto the couch and just cried.

* * *

Eventually, the tears stopped, and they went to bed. When they woke up in the morning, the house felt too empty. The old normal was uncomfortable now. Memories of the prior evening stung. 

Dark thought a lot about Wilford. 

Dark was still hurt. But they missed him, unquestionably, and were worried about him. As much as how he’d acted hurt Dark, they did understand he was struggling, himself. Wilford couldn’t always take the strain of knowing all at once, apparently, and while running away didn’t help him in the long run, sometimes you had to turn to bad coping mechanisms before you could make good ones. That didn’t make it okay, but it went a ways in explaining it. And Dark had really set him off in dragging up the past — though it had been necessary.

Dark spent evenings in the foyer by the front door. It wasn’t until the second night that they realized they’d been doing it hoping Wilford would come back the way he left.

But it was possible Wilford never would. He might never relax his staunch denial that Dark could even exist, and that Damien, Celine, and the DA were anything other than alive and well just _elsewhere_. Or, even if he understood that, Dark might just be too much of a painful reminder — of regrets, crimes, lost lives and lost love.

* * *

Nearly a week had passed. It was late evening, and Dark was occupying the foyer again, when there was a knock on the door. Of course, Dark’s first thought, and first hope even, was of Wilford. They tried to push the hope aside with a reminder of how badly Wilford had hurt them as they nonetheless rushed to answer the door. 

Sure enough, Wilford stood outside. He looked worse for wear, pain in his wide eyes and looking a bit disheveled. (At least he wasn’t wearing the same clothes he’d left in.) 

“…Dark,” he started, and it gave them a rush of relief to finally hear their name from his lips. “I’m so… sorry. Can I… come in?” 

Dark nodded, unsure how to respond and staying guarded. The sound of their name echoed in their head — Wilford knew them, knew who he was talking to. It gave them a dangerous amount of hope for what might happen next. 

They moved aside and Wilford entered. “I’m sorry I left like that. I… couldn’t handle it. It’s hard to remember and when it’s not hard to remember it’s just too much, Dark. I just… well, this isn’t about me. But I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to tell me all that and then I shut down and ran away. I understand if you can’t forgive me but… it was really nice, having a friend again. Having someone who knew me. I wish I had been a better friend to you…”

But then Wilford stopped, because Dark was crying again, tearing up and spilling over as Wilford talked. It was scary and it was disgusting but they were crying and they couldn’t stop. Wilford moved forward, wrapping them in a hug, and that did absolutely nothing to help get the tears under control but did make them feel better and _god_ it had been so long and they’d _never_ just been _held_ so they settled for crying quietly into Wilford’s shoulder, shaking with quiet sobs.

“I’m so sorry,” Wilford repeated, gently. There were tears in his eyes, too. “I should’ve asked in the beginning, when I first found you again. I just thought… well, things are different now, aren’t they? _I’m_ different now. You never slipped up on calling me ‘Wilford’ and I didn’t even ask you, Dark. You’ve been through so much.” 

They both had. They were quiet; Dark was able to calm themself down enough to stem the tears.

“Can I ask you something?” Wilford asked after a minute. 

Dark pulled back, out of Wilford’s embrace. “What is it?” 

“Do you remember their memories?” Curiosity, incredulity in his voice. 

“…Yes,” Dark said, and an interesting moment passed between them. Yes, Dark remembered being with Wilford as Celine. Yes, Dark remembered loving Wilford, twice over. Childhood best friends but strangers at the same time. 

“No, that’s not true,” Wilford corrected. “I basically lived with you for, what, two months? Until I ran away, that is…” 

Now it was Dark’s turn to be bewildered. “What?” 

“We’re not strangers,” Wilford explained. 

“…Can you read my thoughts?” 

“Yours, not usually, or I would’ve figured this all out much sooner, I think,” Wilford laughed, a little bit self-depreciating. “But I caught that one.” 

…Oh, yes, things had changed. 

“But anyway, Dark, I like you. I like you as you. I’m just… sorry I didn’t know that’s who I’ve been getting to know, until now. And I’m so sorry I left you when you finally told me; I know I must’ve hurt you and I know you might be upset with me.” 

“I accept your apology. …I’ve missed you, Wil.”


End file.
